Last Line - Uncle Vanya by Anton Chekov

SONIA. What can we do? We must live our lives. [A pause] Yes, we shall live, Uncle Vanya. We shall live through the long procession of days before us, and through the long evenings; we shall patiently bear the trials that fate imposes on us; we shall work for others without rest, both now and when we are old; and when our last hour comes we shall meet it humbly, and there, beyond the grave, we shall say that we have suffered and wept, that our life was bitter, and God will have pity on us. Ah, then dear, dear Uncle, we shall see that bright and beautiful life; we shall rejoice and look back upon our sorrow here; a tender smile—and—we shall rest. I have faith, Uncle, fervent, passionate faith. [SONIA kneels down before her uncle and lays her head on his hands. She speaks in a weary voice] We shall rest. [TELEGIN plays softly on the guitar] We shall rest. We shall hear the angels. We shall see heaven shining like a jewel. We shall see all evil and all our pain sink away in the great compassion that shall enfold the world. Our life will be as peaceful and tender and sweet as a caress. I have faith; I have faith. [She wipes away her tears] My poor, poor Uncle Vanya, you are crying! [Weeping] You have never known what happiness was, but wait, Uncle Vanya, wait! We shall rest. [She embraces him] We shall rest. [The WATCHMAN'S rattle is heard in the garden; TELEGIN plays softly; MME. VOITSKAYA writes something on the margin of her pamphlet; MARINA knits her stocking] We shall rest.

Vanya on 42nd Street is one of my favourite films, yet I have never read the original play. The last lines spoken by Sonia move me every time I hear them spoken by actress Brooke Smith. The film, which was the be Louis Malle's last film, is a simple yet extremely powerful movie about the joys and, mostly, despairs in Life.

Lines - The Journalist by Harry Mathews

"The possibility had always been real. You never had to remind yourself of it. And it remains real. At such a moment, who are you? Where are you? You cannot dismiss the questions by observing that 'you' have become a mere object manipulated by the indifferent laws of physics. One part of you says that; another part listens. Who and where are they? What and where is your identity? What and where is that weaker being that struggles to survive your identity?"

Harry Mathews, a member of OULIPO, asks the question: how much is enough? Written in the style of Absurdism, the more absurd the situation became for the main character, the more "real" it was to him. There was never a limit as to how much he could create, yet when outside Reality came crashing down, the absurd manner in how it took place dissolved his "world".

First Line - The Shawl by Cynthia Ozick

"Stella, cold, cold, the coldness of Hell." If one survives in one aspect yet fails in another, are they still "free"? A woman physically survives the Holocaust yet is forever "trapped" psychologically and emotionally.

First Line - The Winter Of Our Discontent by John Steinbeck

-"When the fair gold morning of April stirred Mary Hawley awake, she turned over to her husband and saw him, little fingers pulling a frog mouth at her." This novel answers a very valid question: What could one do if one knew that they could not fail? Ethan Hawley, thanks to his loving wife, typical children, grateful yet cheap boss and other other factors in his sleepy town life, makes a choice that will change his perspective forever. This is Steinbeck at his finest.

Earl Grey in the Evening - Photos from the Juke Joint Festival in Clarksdale, MS

Let me just say right off the bat that Clarksdale, MS is one of the coolest places to visit! Not only is it the home of the Delta Blues, but the people who live in the town are warm, friendly and super cool! The Juke Joint Festival was my introduction to the town and it did not disappoint.


This town is proud to show off their Blues heritage.




The entrance to the ultra cool Delta Blues Museum, a place where one can literally dance through it while learning about the Blues.



Miss Del's the place to go to if you want to find gifts of all shapes and sizes, plus they have my newest weakness - Bourbon Praline Pecans!






I saw this mural next to a gas station and had to take a photo of it.




Deak Harp, one of the musicians performing on Saturday. Not only was he a phenomenal singer and player, but he also made all of his instruments! A one man band and then some!


Although I do have many, many more photos, I wanted to least show my appreciation for not only the festival but also the town. When I drove back to Memphis after the festival, my pride for living in the South grew. The Blues is not just music; it is also a way of life, a way of thinking and an art form all on its own like its cousin, Jazz. Up until this weekend, I had never really listened to Blues (I am a Jazz fan, thanks to my grandfather!) and yet when I heard the music from the musicians, I felt something deep inside of me stir. The people, the artwork, the everything all rolls into an experience that can not be explained in words. It must be felt.

Thank you, Clarksdale, for giving me the Blues.

The Power of Words

I have always loved words. Ever since I was a child, my passion for books and knowledge went far beyond what others would deem as "necessary". Even now, I rejoice whenever I discover something new like OULIPO, The Decadent Movement or even the rules of mahjong, because it gives me a chance to read about it and hopefully experience it as well. My stories are an extension of my passion; my fans tell me that reading my stories is like listening to me speak. Yet, what would we do without words? Will there ever be a time when we need more than words to express, discover and enjoy our world?
Several days ago, I read the novel Elizabeth Costello by J.M. Coetzee. This was the first book I had ever read by him. Although the novel is slim, the contents, the words, are far from it. The main character, Elizabeth, is a writer who is nearing the twilight years of her life. She has traveled all over the world, spoken to many people and written books that were beloved by all. However, as the book progresses, she is invited to speak at several conventions and conferences, yet the words she uses at each place comes out garbled, confusing and mainly disjointed. It would appear, then, that she has lost her gift with words. Or has she? Has her pursuit of the written word given her an insight as to something greater than words, and that such thoughts require more than words? Is it true, then, that the desire for knowledge could ultimately lead to an intellectual paralysis?
I hope that words shall retain their power in the future, yet I see more and more instances in which words are no longer needed. To convey a thought now merely requires several letters or a symbol, a touch and click on an iPod or Kindle and that is that. Yet, when I wrote the story Peau, I wanted to convey the idea that the power of words was and still strong, as long as we acknowledge said power. Words not read dissolve like sugar in a cup of tea. To be forgotten is to dissolve. May words and their power never dissolve.

The Panther by Rainer Maria Rilke

* This is one of my favourite poems. While reading the novel Elizabeth Costello by J.M. Coetzee, one of the characters makes mention of it, giving me enough of a reason to post it on my blog*



His vision, from the constantly passing bars,
has grown so weary that it cannot hold
anything else. It seems to him there are
a thousand bars; and behind the bars, no world.

As he paces in cramped circles, over and over,
the movement of his powerful soft strides
is like a ritual dance around a center
in which a mighty will stands paralyzed.

Only at times, the curtain of the pupils
lifts, quietly--. An image enters in,
rushes down through the tensed, arrested muscles,
plunges into the heart and is gone.

Wanderlust For All

I love to walk. It is one of my favourite things to do, especially when I am feeling down, sad, angry, happy, thoughtful, anything! Not only do I get exercise, but I also get a chance to view the world that normally rushes by me whenever I am driving around. All it takes is a good pair of shoes and you're off! Working in Downtown Memphis has the extra cool advantage in that I can put on my sneakers and walk out of my building to a new adventure every time. Sometimes, if the weather is cooperating with me, I'll bring my camera with me so as to take photos of things that I find to be odd and beautiful. Sometimes, I just plug in my iPod and let my music lead me. And still other times, I like to walk down Beale Street and smell the BBQ smoke wafting out of the restaurants while listening to Blues music and soaking up Memphis history.
Recently, I read a book entitled The Most Beautiful Walk in the World: A Pedestrian in Paris by John Baxter in which he describes his walking journeys while living there. Some of the stories are touching, some are downright hilarious and still others speak of the artistic history of the City of Light. When I read this book with obvious joy, I imagined myself walking along the Paris streets, searching for a cafe in which to sit and watch people go by. I don't know if I'll ever visit Paris yet I do understand the desire to walk and SEE and be a part of just living.
I will freely admit that whenever Spring comes around, the wanderlust in me rises to a fever pitch. I will come up with any excuse to go for a walk, even if it's to purchase kleenex. Walking means just that much to me.

As Tolkien wrote in Lord of the Rings, "Not All Who Wander Are Lost."

Amen to that!

Poem of the Day - At Melville's Tomb by Hart Crane

Often beneath the wave, wide from this ledge
The dice of drowned men’s bones he saw bequeath
An embassy. Their numbers as he watched,
Beat on the dusty shore and were obscured.

And wrecks passed without sound of bells,
The calyx of death’s bounty giving back
A scattered chapter, livid hieroglyph,
The portent wound in corridors of shells.

Then in the circuit calm of one vast coil,
Its lashings charmed and malice reconciled,
Frosted eyes there were that lifted altars;
And silent answers crept across the stars.

Compass, quadrant and sextant contrive
No farther tides ... High in the azure steeps
Monody shall not wake the mariner.
This fabulous shadow only the sea keeps.

Source: The Complete Poems of Hart Crane (Poetry Foundation, 2001)

A Fungus Among Us!

When I was a little girl, I hated mushrooms. I couldn't stand the smell, taste, texture, anything regarding a fungus. My mother once tried to make me eat a stuffed mushroom cap, to which I politely stuffed in my mouth then, when she walked away, spit it in a trash can. All of that changed when years later, she introduced me to a grilled portobello mushroom sandwich. When I bit into it, I asked her where was the mushroom. All I was eating was something delicious, flavourful and quite tasty!
So began my love for all things mushroom. Now, many years later, I am a member of the Cumberland Mycological Society, I have the Field Guide to North American Mushrooms, I have dear friends send me photos of fungus on their property and my eyes stayed glued to the ground if I am in a wooded area. Recently, I had the pleasure of meeting fellow mushroom lover Eugenia Bone, author of the book Mycophilia. She told of her tales of meeting up with fellow mushroom hunters, exploring the fungi kingdom in all of its glory and informing us of the unlimited potential of mushrooms in today's world of science and medicine.
Mycophilia is a book for the mushroom lover, the novice fungi admirer and for those who just love a good read. I found myself nodding enthusiastically while reading her words regarding attending mushroom forays (I'll be attending my first this July!), interviewing legendary people in the field of mycology and the prevalent mushroom festivals across the country.
One festival in particular is the Mushroom Festival located in Kennett Square, PA. For those of you who don't know, Kennett Square is the home of white button mushrooms! Yes, those little guys you get in a small plastic wrapped crate from your grocery store was 9 times of out 10 from Kennett Square. After reviewing the website for the festival, I decided that I, Kimberly Richardson, would attend this year's festival! The photos from last year looked way too cool and I knew this was a chance that I would have to take. So, I'll be in Kennett Square this year from the 7th through the 9th of September and I am looking forward to it!
If someone from my past had told me that the Kimberly of today would be super excited over fungi and their many properties, I would have told them to go fly a kite. But now, I can't imagine my life any other way.


FUNGI RULES!

**By the way, the photo is of a puffball fungus. So freakin' cool!